


I Don't Know How To Do This

by LittleSparrow69



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mission Related, mission trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 16:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4883830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSparrow69/pseuds/LittleSparrow69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint returns to the tower after a traumatic mission.  Steve is waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Know How To Do This

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill from avengerkink. Unfortunately I didn't bookmark it. Someone requested Clint/Steve with feelings. I tend to read more Clint/Coulson but something about this pairing definitely appeals to me. 
> 
> spell checked but not beta'd. You know how that goes.

Clint felt like one of the walking dead as he and Phil exited the transport. Six days with little to no sleep on one of the most horrific missions they'd ever worked. Human traffickers. Enough fucking said. Clint was trudging towards the entrance to the helicarrier for debrief when Coulson gripped his arm and gave a nod towards an awaiting Stark chopper, guiding Clint in that direction. He was so tired that he stumbled slightly at the change in direction but let himself be led. 

"It'll keep until tomorrow," Coulson said, just as tired and worn as Clint. 

Somewhere in the haze of exhaustion and numbness he understood they were breaking protocol and wondered if he should care. In the end he just followed Coulson because if he could trust anything, it was that. 

His gear sat heavy on the floor between his feet, collapsible bow safely nestled and secure within, for the short ride to the tower. It felt surreal to even be there in the chopper and on his way 'home' after the horror of the last few days. It took a certain kind of sick and twisted individual to trade and sell in human flesh but when the product or cargo in question turned out to be children, all between the ages of six and twelve, it had upped the ante for everyone involved. 

In the end only eight of the twenty-two children had made it out alive. Clint shut his eyes but the vision of those small, lifeless bodies continued to haunt him. They'd done everything they could but when their target had somehow been tipped off and had ordered the execution of their latest batch rather than take the chance of any details of the operation being discovered...it had all gone to hell pretty fast. Clint himself was responsible for the lives of the eight surviving children as he'd taken out the shooters one by one as the rest of the team ran for the compound to get as many of the children as they could to safety. 

The only consolation in the whole sordid mess was that Clint had taken out the kingpin of the operation along with several of his lackeys. There would always be some other miscreant waiting in the wings to take their place but for now, that particular operation had been shut down. Someday it may even be a consolation of some sort for the children they did save. 

Clint couldn't help but think if Lily. His throat tightened up as he remembered the sound of her cry, the first noise she'd made, as she'd been taken away from him at the embassy. She was one of the youngest of the small group of survivors. The compound had been a good four hours from the nearest embassy by transport and they had gathered the children together for the trip and pooled their MRE's and water for them as it looked like it had been while since they'd last eaten. Five girls and three boys and the only one to speak at all had been Jace, and then only to give names of the children that he knew. 

Lily had sat at Clint's feet for the ride to the embassy. She'd looked up at him several times, large blue eyes so much older than her six years and haunted in ways it would take years to recover from. Her hair was the color of spun gold, messy and tangled but still beautiful as it framed her small heart shaped face. Three quarters of the way to their destination, she'd taken his hand, a fragile sign of hope and trust that almost broke him after all she'd been through. 

Clint blinked several times to hold back the sting of tears. He wasn't even aware that they'd landed until Coulson had released his seat belt and put a hand to his shoulder, eyes searching and concerned. Clint grabbed his gear and stepped out of the chopper, recognizing the landing pad atop Stark tower. He'd taken two steps in the direction of the elevator when he noticed a familiar figure waiting for him. Clint froze, bag dropping to the ground at his feet. Coulson didn't even miss a beat, passing by Clint, reaching down for his gear and taking it with him as he continued on to the elevator. Steve Rogers met his gaze with such genuine warmth and concern that Clint's breath caught in his throat. He watched as Steve's gaze flickered to Coulson briefly, giving him a small grateful nod, before returning to Clint. 

They'd had a fight just before Clint had left, this thing between them new and frightening and Clint had lashed out with careless and hurtful words. He'd never had a healthy or monogamous relationship in his life and Steve wanted things from Clint that he wasn't sure he could give, wasn't sure he was even capable of. None of that seemed to matter right now. All Clint knew was that he wanted...he needed...

Fuck, even operating on fumes he hesitated. Clint wanted nothing more than to let it go and give in but it just wasn't in his nature. Steve was patience personified, steady and forgiving, allowing Clint his space. 

"What do you need?" Steve asked quietly. Heartfelt. 

There was strength and determination in his voice but it didn't quite override the sliver of uncertainty that he was out of his depth, that he couldn't give Clint what he needed but was prepared to try nonetheless. 

It was the last that got to Clint, got him moving, taking one step and then another, each more certain than the next until he was striding with purpose and nothing but the ragged edge of adrenaline as he launched himself into Steve's waiting arms. He felt the man's sudden jolt of surprise as arms and legs wound around him, but he was already shifting to accommodate Clint's weight and tightening his grip to keep him close. 

He'd never had this. Never had anyone waiting for him, no one to come home to. Coulson and Natasha were different. They were there for him, just as he would always be for them, but this was a different kind of support. One Clint wasn't familiar or comfortable with but that he wanted so very much regardless. Wanted it so bad it scared him...but it scared him even more that he would do something to screw it up and lose what could be his only chance at something amazing.

Clint wanted that. He'd already made so many mistakes. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...." 

He hadn't even realized he was repeating the words over and over again until Steve's hand went to the back of his neck with a gentle squeeze. Soothing words Clint was too gone to even hear spoken close to his ear as he trembled in physical and emotional exhaustion. 

_Shhhhhhhhhh, it's okay...you're okay, shhhhhhhhhh........_

Clint had no idea how long Steve held him. Long enough for Coulson to take the elevator down and send it back up for them. Long enough for Clint to finally stand down into safe mode and let Steve lead him to the floor that he and Natasha shared. On auto pilot he let Steve strip him of his tac suit, clumsily assisting as best he could, feeling unbalanced and slightly intoxicated as the adrenaline that had kept him moving slowly bled from his system. Steve kept contact with him the entire time, guiding and gentle as he maneuvered Clint into the shower. He didn't join him but hovered nearby as Clint tilted his face into the spray, washing away the dirt and the sweat and the grime from three days in the desert. 

He went through the motions by rote, efficient and familiar, washing his hair and his body and letting the water rinse away the suds. Hands braced against the tile, head lowered, Clint watched the swirl of soap at the drain and found himself slipping to his knees as it all hit him like a tidal wave once again. Something about being warm and clean and safe brought it all back... not the faces of the children he did save, but the ones he didn't. The screams of terror, the sound of the gunshots, the desperate need to be quicker, faster, the pleas for help that would follow him into his dreams for weeks to come. 

And then Steve was there with him, joining him on the floor, pulling him close, heedless of the water that soaked his clothes as Clint gazed up at him with red rimmed eyes. 

"I...I don't know how to do this," Clint admitted, thankful even now that the shower somewhat masked the tears he had no control over. 

They both knew he was talking about more than the mission, the lines blurred for him in his tired state. 

He'd never been so honest or so wide open and broken in front of any that wasn't Natasha or Coulson in years. It was like had no barriers. 

Steve's smile was loving and sad and it almost broke him all over again. He didn't say anything and for that Clint was grateful. The kiss to his forehead was soft and careful, Steve cradling him against his body until he was ready to move. 

Clint lost a little bit of time between the shower and his bed, coming to as he stood alone in the middle of the room in nothing but his birthday suit. He may have made a small noise, he wasn't sure. 

"Right here," Steve reassured with a telegraphed touch as he slipped from his damp clothes as efficiently as possible with one hand before guiding Clint to the bed. 

They slipped beneath the covers one after the other, Clint automatically turning to Steve who pulled him into his arms. Sighing at the skin to skin contact and blessed warmth and comfort Clint vaguely realized this would be the first time they'd slept together without having sex first. His fault. It was the last thought he had before the welcome oblivion of sleep finally pulled him under. 

It didn't last. 

He wasn't sure how long he'd been out but several times he jerked awake. Steve was there each time, awake and soothing. Sometimes he fell back to sleep immediately, others it took longer. 

When he woke again it was deep in the night he could tell. Clint's head rested on Steve's chest and he could hear the slow, steady beat of his heart and could tell that he was awake. He didn't know what to say. He never seemed to know what to say. 

"I don't know how to do this," he said. This time it was clear that he was talking about this thing between them.

Steve was quiet for a long time. 

"Do you want to do this?" he asked finally. 

The question was neutral. Deceptively casual. No judgment either way, as if whatever Clint's response was, it would change nothing in their current moment. 

He wanted it so bad he could taste it. Clint gripped him tighter, shifting to hide his face in Steve's neck. God, why was it so hard to admit. 

Suddenly he was being rolled to his back, Steve above him, the bulk of his weight balanced on opposite knee and elbow so as not to crush Clint. A hand brushed his hair back, Steve's face so close in the moonlight streaming through the window. 

"Clint?" 

It was the obvious love in those clear and determined blue eyes that did it. All for him. If he wanted it, if he was brave enough to take it. 

"I..." Clint's voice caught and he felt the sting of tears as his eyes watered. He felt so exposed, but also so very safe. "I do," he whispered. "I want it. I want you...this...us." 

Steve's smile was a thing of beauty and tinged with relief. He kissed Clint then, tender and gentle and full of promise. 

"That's all that matters," spoken against Clint's lips. "We'll figure the rest out." 

It was enough. For tonight, it was enough. 

Whatever issues they had would still be there in the morning, but the fact that they both wanted and were willing to work through them spoke volumes. 

He had someone to come home to now. And that was worth fighting for. 

END.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. It was short I know but if you enjoyed at all I'd love to know. Thank you :)


End file.
